Deliverance
by CroonerWhore
Summary: In the middle of the night, a sobbing Casey demanded he take her away. So, he obliged. - Chapter seven up.
1. Having Trouble Breathing

A/N: Here's a prologue to a story that's been floating around in my head for a bit. I'm not sure I like it, or know a hundred percent exactly where I'm trying to go with it, but I figured why the hell not? I know Derek's kinda OOC, and I'm sorry. But go with it, yeah? I can only do so much.

Disclaimer: Own nothing. So chill.

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"Take me away, Derek." Her voice is soft, somber. Not pleading or desperate as the sentence implies. Derek groans into his pillow, not at all ready to be woken up.

"What the hell?" It's the only thing he can think to say. It's three in the morning, he's in his boxers, in _his_ bed, and she's asking him to _take her away_? His brain is too cloudy to comprehend this.

"Take me somewhere. Anywhere." She's sitting primly on the edge of his bed, fully clothed and distant. His hazed mind is trying to figure out if this is a dream or not.

He's deciding nay, as with most of his dreams, she'd be crawling up his body by now, not wearing a sweater and jeans. And he wouldn't be pissed at being woken up so goddamn early.

"Casey, I told you lay off the sugared products. They're almost like crack to you." His voice is raw and scratchy, symptoms of being wretched from his coma-like sleep.

"Which might be a good thing. I have a toothbrush somewhere. And my walls could definitely use a good scrub." He snickers somewhat at his lame joke. At the ass-crack of dawn, he felt everything he said was comedic gold.

She doesn't respond, and his snicker dies into a cramped silence. She continues to stare at him somewhat expectantly.

"Seriously. It's three in the morning, and you're waking me up to take you somewhere? I know you're crazy and all, but this is completely insane, even for you." His wit has left him and now all he has fueling his state of alertness is annoyance.

"Please, Derek." And this time her words _are _pleading and her tone _is_ screaming desperation.

"Jesus Christ, Casey. Just go back to bed. It's too damn early for your girl shit," he says, ignoring the unease brewing in the pit of his stomach. Tiredness outweighs any other feeling at the moment, and he just wants to go back to sleep.

He rolls back over, confident that the strange conversation is at its end. But before he can settle back into his mattress, he feels a feeble grasp cover his right ankle. His body stiffens and he tries to shake it off.

"Let go of me." She tightens her hold as he starts to flail his leg. The heel of his foot comes in contact with her thigh, and with a small 'oof' she releases his ankle. He smirks into his pillow, but it turns back into a scowl when he realizes that she hasn't moved off his bed.

"Goddammit, go to bed," he growls, the words muffled by the pillow he face is still smashed against. He hears a small sob escape from her throat and panic rises in him.

He twists around so he's facing the ceiling and starts to nudge her with his foot.

"No crying. No, no, no, no. No."

He cranes his neck so he can see her. Nausea claims his stomach as he finally allows his brain to process the girl sitting in front of him.

Her shoulders are slumped, hair disheveled, and he swears that her sweater is missing a few buttons.

His anger vanishes and unease rushes back, and he sits up stiffly. She fidgets as he scrutinizes her. There is a bruise forming on her left cheek. He is now fully awake and completely aware that something is horribly wrong.

"What the hell happened to you?" It comes out crueler then he intended and she flinches. His body tenses but his tone softens.

"Casey. What happened?" he asks again, voice uncharacteristically concerned. He scoots himself down his bed to sit in front of her. He notices some more bruises along her jaw, arms, and bile starts to rise up his throat. He reaches his hand out, moving to trace the discolored skin absentmindedly, but she recoils. He lets his hand drop back down to his lap and feels something akin to fear.

_Was she…_

"Case—"

"Take me away, Derek," she interrupts. Silent tears still running down her cheeks. Smudges of mascara marring her flushed cheeks. Her lipstick is smeared and all Derek can think is that it's not right. Her lipstick is never smeared.

He tries again.

"Case—"

"_Please_." The whisper is heavy and broken.

He watches her, almost afraid to look away, as she crumbles apart and lets the misery take over. He doesn't know what else to do, so he awkwardly pats her back, making what he hopes are reassuring shushing sounds every so often.

After a few minutes, the sobs die down and Casey slumps against Derek, exhaustion consuming her. Sometime during her breakdown, his awkward pats became soothing circles and his forced consoling became real concern.

And his uneasiness multiplied.

"Uh—" He struggles to get out his words, the moment too thick and deep for him to function as he normally would.

He clears his throat three times before he finally finds his words.

"Um, where do you wanna go?"

They sit in silence for a moment, Casey resting in his lap, and Derek semi-aware that he's only in his boxers, rubbing small circles across his beaten stepsister's back.

He feels uncomfortable at how comfortable all this is.

"Anywhere but here," she finally answers. It takes Derek a few blinks before he processes what her statement meant, and only vaguely remembers asking her the question in the first place.

"Okay."

Thirty-five minutes later, speeding down highway 401, a small part of Derek tells him that this is not a good idea. But hearing a frighten whimper come from his sleeping passenger, he ignores that part and continues driving.

_Anywhere but here it is_, he thinks, glancing over at Casey. _I'll get you as far away as I can._

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TBC _  
_


	2. Like Mercury to Hell

**A/N: I know it's short, but it's an update! I am so extremely grateful to all of my wonderful reviewers who have given me hope for this story. Still no idea where it's going, but as long as y'all are down for the ride, I'm happy to go as far as I can. And I promise that next chapter will be longer.**

**Also, I know that Derek is extremely OOC, and he probably will be for a bit. But worry not, dear readers, as he will dissolve back into his bastardly self soon. He's still in shock and uncharted territory with Casey all distant and moody. Go with it, yeah? R&R, if you would. I love hearing what you guys think! It inspires me!**

**Disclaimer: Own nothing. LWD belongs to Canada and its creators (the show's, not the country's). Line and Sink belongs to Billy Talent (wonderful,**_**wonderful**_** band). Blue in the Face belongs to Alkaline Trio (also wonderful).**

**And….go**

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** Chapter One:  
Like Mercury to Hell**

Derek glanced at Casey for what seemed the hundredth time since they left London. She was currently staring out the window, watching the blur of highway and cars race by. It didn't even look like she was blinking. Just staring. In the waking sunlight, her bruises were more noticeable. His stomach flipped and then flopped.

He moved his eyes back to the road, trying to ignore the bout of nausea twisting in his stomach. He switched lanes to pass a station-wagon going about sixty kilometers per minute and cussed to himself.

"Stupid slow people," he muttered, passing them. He was ready to flip them the bird as he passed, but quelled the urge when he noticed the graying hair and the thick glasses.

"Old people should not be allowed to drive," he said mostly to himself. He was also hoping that Casey would say something, _anything_, to defend the elderly woman. But as expected, she continued staring at the passing landscape, completely oblivious that he even existed beyond the point of controlling the Jeep.

Annoyance at being ignored rose up his spine and it took every decent bone in his body not to start yelling at the mute girl.

"You know something's wrong when Casey isn't talking your ear off," he said slightly under his breath. Trying, and failing, to goad her into a fight. At this point, he was desperate for interaction. They'd been on the road for an hour and twenty-three minutes (not that's he's been keeping track) and she's yet to say a single word to him.

"I could leave you on the side of the highway, y'know. That far enough away for you, Spacey?"

Silence followed and his hands tightened on the wheel.

"Fine. I'm turning on music, then. And it's going to be loud and yell-y." No response.

"You're going to hate it." Nothing.

Derek hit the power button to his stereo with more force than was really necessary. With and audible _click_ music echoed. The booming screams of Billy Talent's "Line and Sinker" blared through the speakers, shaking the entire vehicle. Still, Casey stayed unresponsive. Derek yelled with the lyrics, allowing the inharmonious sound to reverberate off his tongue.

It felt good to yell with someone.

"My heart is in the right place. So wipe that smirk right off your face. Don't make me feel like that. 'Cause that's just plain not nice." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her slightly turn her head toward him. He screamed louder.

"We don't always see the bright side. And I lied when I said I was fine. You slapped my face today. But I have licked my wounds and carried on."

He could see her face now. It was rueful. Sad. And slightly disgusted. Hecouldn't stop the smirk that crossed his lips. Finally. A_reaction_.

She didn't speak, still. Merely reached over and gently turned the knob, lowering the volume. His smirk increased. He was getting to her. He was winning.

"What's the matter, princess?" he asked, saccharine sweet.

"My head hurts, Derek." Her voice was tired, worn. Completely un-Casey-like. She sounded as though this was a played out argument. Derek's victorious grin slipped, and he was left with more unease._Who was this girl?_

"Sorry," he mumbled, at a loss of what else to say or do. He pulled out a CD sitting in the console and ejected Billy, one handed, making sure to keep his eyes glued to the road, left hand glued to the steering wheel.

He inserted the new choice, allowing the mellow strums of Alkaline Trio to sooth the atmosphere. Uncharacteristic emo-rock filled the cab. Derek saw her form slightly relax, and take to looking out of the windshield, instead of her side window. _Progress._

Surprisingly, Casey began to sing along with the song. Derek was shocked. This wasn't her kind of music. It was barely his kind of music.

"_It's about time  
That I came clean with you  
No longer fine  
I'm no longer running smooth."_

He took in her soft voice, glad for whatever he could get. It didn't hurt that she had a decent voice. He smiled to himself. They continued like that, him driving, silently listening, while she sang.

_"I thought that I  
Found myself under something new  
Just one more line  
I repeat over and over again_  
'_Til I'm blue in the face with a choking regret._

_As I talk in circles round you on my bed  
Can't say I blamed you one bit when you kept it all inside  
When you left that night."_

Derek saw a sign, declaring that at the next exit, cheap food could be found at any time, day or night. He felt his stomach grumble, and his eyes started feeling a bit heavy.

"_And I don't dream since I quit sleeping  
And I haven't slept since I met you."_

Sustenance and caffeine was definitely needed, pronto, if they were going to make it to their destination in one piece.

"Hey, you hungry?" he ventured, hoping that her singing meant interaction. He glanced at her quick enough to see her nodding along with the beat, still singing.

_"And you can't breathe without coughing in daytime  
Well neither can I."_

He couldn't tell if she was just bobbing her head or actually answering.

"_So what do you say?"_

"Is that a yes?"

"_Your coffin or mine?"_

"I could eat." She extended her hand, pushing the back button, the beginning chords of Blue in the Face filling up the Jeep once more.

"I love this song." Her voice held traces of the Casey he loved to hate, and he made a mental note to track down Alkaline Trio and tell them how eternally grateful he was for their need to pluck at a guitar for a living.

"I didn't notice." He saw a blush creep up her neck, clashing horribly with the blue and purple marks, and he wondered if he would actually be able to keep anything down with the queasiness quickly replacing the rumbles of hunger.

And again, the questions flew through his head, and he wanted nothing more than to shake her, yell in her face, until she answered every single one of them. When, why? What happened? And most importantly, _who_? But he knew that he'd have to wait it out.

Casey was damn stubborn when she wanted to be.

So, instead of the million and one questions he was dying to ask, he settled for the one he knew she'd have no trouble answering.

"You good with McDonald's, MacDonald?"

"Yeah," she replied breathlessly, before continuing to sing, this time quieter. He couldn't help but notice the hopelessness in her tone.

"_I thought that I  
Found me a cure for feeling old  
Just one more line  
To keep me sleeping loudly and cold  
In disgrace with a shameful regret."_

Derek couldn't control the surge of anger that shot through him. Someone had broken Casey, and he vowed to himself, in that tension filled Jeep, doing 90 down the 403 at 5:46 in the morning, he would find out who. And what.

And when he did find whoever it was, he was going to make sure that he made them pay. Severely. With sharp objects. And something pointy and hot.

"Sweet," he responded, no sweetness to his tone. "To the arches of gold, then."

_TBC…_


	3. Cliched Tragedy

**A/N: Hey! Look! I'm **_**not**_** dead! Wow, I was even wondering for a while there. I am terribly sorry for the super long wait. I'm pretty sure my brain has been on strike lately. I've started this chapter some many times, so many ways, and this is finally what I came up with. Completely deviated from my original plot idea, but, meh, it happens. Also, I'm sorry if this chapter is choppy/rushed/disappointing, it's nearly 7am here and I've been trying to get this done all night. I figured you guys deserved something, so here it is.**

**Also, thank you to my numerous reviewers! I will hopefully be able to get out another chapter faster for you guys!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

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**Chapter Two:  
Clichéd Tragedy**

"We're fine. No, I didn't kidnap her. She's here out of her own free will. Actually, it might be the other way around. Kidding. No one's being held against their will."

Derek was pacing back and forth in the parking lot of McDonald's, trying to calm an anxious Nora. Casey sat, still zoned out, in the passenger seat of his Jeep.

"Well, she's sleeping at the moment. We're just going to Toronto. She wanted to shop. Yes, I know there's malls in London. Yes, I know Toronto's far away. Uh-huh. Yep. No, I won't leave her at the side of the road. Chill, Nora. Everything's fine."

He rolled his eyes, annoyed. This woman was worse than Casey when it came to overreacting.

"Yes, we'll be home by dinner. Uh-huh, got it. Lots of pain. Mm-hmm. Bodily damage. Understood. Roger and out."

He pressed the end button, letting out a long breath, trying to relax. Now he understood how Casey got to be so damn neurotic. Well, when she was interactive.

He stood outside of his Jeep for a few minutes, not really in a hurry to get back in the car to the thick silence that awaited him. Breakfast had been awkward at best. He tried to force feed Casey with little success. She had ended up throwing a plastic fork at him before storming out of the restaurant. She'd been in the Jeep ever since.

He had just taken his time eating, making sure to chew extra slow. That's when Nora called. Freaking out about waking up to missing children, a missing vehicle and no note to quell her raging imagination.

He blamed menopause.

Finally giving in to the fact that sooner or later he'd have to deal with his moody step-sister, he pulled open the driver's side door and slid into the vehicle.

"Well, your mom sure is chipper in the morning," he said as he turned the key in the ignition.

Casey let out a small humph, crossing her arms over her chest and sinking into her seat.

"Well, 'humph' to you too, lady," he said, pulling out of the parking lot, heading back in the direction of the highway.

"What did Mom say?" she asked, tentatively. He had to hold back a look of surprise at her voice. That was the most she'd said since before breakfast.

"She wanted to talk to you. To make sure I didn't murder you and leave your body on the side of the highway somewhere. Oh, and to make sure we'd be home for dinner," he said, looking over his shoulder to ease into the next lane.

"Why didn't you give me the phone?" she asked. He glanced at her shortly, noticing her arms still crossed, and her brows lowered in an accusatory glare.

"You were all…moody. I don't think that would have reassured your mom. She's already paranoid enough that I kidnapped you," he explained. As if were the most obvious reason in the world.

"I'm not moody!" Her defenses were kicking in finally. They were both gearing up for a possibly explosive argument. Derek's hands squeezed the steering wheel.

"Right. And what do you call assaulting me with plastic utensils?"

"You deserved it! You tried to asphyxiate me with pancakes!" she shouted back, her face reddening from her unrestrained indignation.

"You said you were hungry! And then you refuse to eat? Jesus, woman! Make up your fucking mind!"

"I have every right to change my mind. And you have no right to curse at me. God, Derek. Why can't you just be nice for once and leave me alone?"

"Nice? _Nice_? Are you fucking _kidding_ me?"

"Don't you yell at me."

"Jesus Christ! I drove three hours, _three hours_, because you just needed to get away, and you're telling me that I don't know how to be _nice_?"

"Yes! You don't! But you sure know how to rude, bossy, nosy, insensitive, jerky..."

Frustration was fueling his actions, his words. His knuckles felt like they were about to snap from his death grip on the wheel.

"At least my attitude doesn't leave bruises."

The silence that followed threatened to suffocate him.

"Casey…" he began, looking at her from the corner of his eye once more. Her shoulders slumped and a small sob escaped her lips.

His frustration grew into anger and he pounded his palms loudly against the steering wheel. He saw Casey flinch slightly out of the corner of his eyes and his urge to punch something increased ten-fold. Casey's eyes were wide, frightened. His foot grew heavier and he failed to notice the needle on the speedometer as it rushed to the right. He was only focused on Casey. Not on his drifting vehicle. Or his unsteady hands.

His breath was loud, perturbed. His body was shaking.

"What the hell happened, Casey?" he shouted, turning his head to watch her. He didn't move to look back at the road as he continued on with his rant.

"I mean, seriously. You wake me up in the fucking middle of the night and then don't say a fucking _word_ to me all morning. What the hell is _wrong_?"

"Derek—"

"Don't you 'Derek' me! I deserve a fucking explanation!" he screamed, red faced and out of breath.

"DEREK! Look out!"

The low blare of a horn was too little too late. His body was incapable of reacting.

A scream was torn from his lungs, and the sound terrified him.

But it was nothing compared to the fracturing glass, or the scrapping sound of metal on metal. Or the high-pitched sound that ripped from Casey's throat.

He felt his seat belt snap. He felt his body tear through the raining glass of the windshield. He hit the ground with a loud thud and slid a few more feet. He heard and, more specifically, felt the bone in his leg break with a sickeningly loud crack.

He screamed once more.

Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes, but he swallowed them back. He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't cry.

There was no way in hell he was going to cry.

He laid still for a moment, trying to regain control of his breathing. It was more difficult then he'd admit to himself.

He couldn't see Casey from the position he was in. He cleared his throat and winced at the pain it produced. He ignored his pounded head.

His voice was hoarse, strained. But he was determined.

"Casey?"

No answer. His heart sped up and his head started to spin.

A cough tore through him and the taste of copper flooded his senses. He choked back a gag, he choked back panic.

He tried again.

"Casey?"

No answer.

He bit back another scream as he desperately tried to pull himself up. Dizziness washed over him, a sharp, throbbing pain shooting up his leg. He felt bile rise in his throat and he barely turned his head in time to avoid throwing up on himself. He collapsed into a heap, wheezing from the effort, on his back.

His vision was blurred, the sun unbearably bright all of a sudden. With all of the strength he had left in him, he lifted his head and scanned the area around him, ignoring the rush of fire that raced through his body.

He couldn't see Casey anywhere.

His panic bred into full-fledged fear.

"C-Casey?"

Everything, that minutes ago, seemed crucially important seemed completely insignificant now.

All that mattered now was how heavy his eyelids were becoming. How hard breathing was. And how loud the silence was.

Another wave of nausea bombarded him and he felt warm liquid on his lips. His chest constricted in another fit of coughs and a searing ache slashed through his head. He refused to give up.

What if Casey was…

He couldn't finish the thought. It scared him more than his inability to feel his leg. He looked around again, disregarding the burning sensation that flooded him.

By the crumpled, upside-down version of what used to be his jeep, he saw it. Her. Legs sticking out from the other side. With a loud 'oomph' he rolled onto his stomach and slowly began clawing at the ground, slowing dragging his body toward her.

"Casey.." Another weak call. His raspy voice no louder than a whisper.

But still he persisted. He bit through his lip holding back his urge to scream every time his leg trailed in his path. It was getting harder to keep his eyes opened. Wheezes and gasps replaced breathing.

The world was going in and out of focus.

Determination warring with pure exhaustion.

He made it about three feet before his arms gave out. His body flattened against the ground and blackness flooded his vision. Blinking it back, he tried one more time to move closer to Casey.

This time his voice got the better of him, tearing from his throat, bringing an onslaught of coughs and blood.

Breathing was a once-upon-a-time action now. His lungs so tight he felt as though he were already dead.

He didn't want to give up, but his body was doing it despite him.

His last attempt at calling out to his step-sister died on his tongue, sinking into the blood that coated it, before his head lulled forward and the world disappeared behind his eyelids.

_TBC…_


	4. The Day is Gone

**A/N: Hahaha! It didn't take forever this time! Though, as a fair warning to my loyal readers, it may still be a bit of a wait between chapters. Between school, and work (and starting next week, two jobs. Oh joy.) and helping my sister take care of the infant, I don't have much time for writing. Not to mention a bad case of writer's block. Hopefully when things quiet down (if they ever do) I can write more regularly. Until then, please be patient with me. I will try to get as much out as quickly as possible.**

**As for this chapter, I can say I'm fairly happy with it. It is short, as I'm trying really hard, but failing, at writing longer chapters. As for the plot? Yeah, my original idea kinda died in the crash. So much for planning, eh? We'll see where I end up.**

**And thank you to all of my wonderful reviewers. You guys make the pain of the creative process worth it!**

**Now, on with the story.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

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"_Woke up and wished that I was dead, with an aching in my head, I lay motionless in bed. I thought of you and where you'd gone and let the world spin madly on."_ - World Spins Madly On, The Weepies

**Chapter Three:  
The Day is Gone**

Derek awoke to a soft, monotonous beeping sound. It took a few blinks to focus his vision, only to be met with a never ending sea of white. White walls, white ceiling, white sheets. He studied the various tubes jutting out of his skin, the bandages, the bruises. He studied his arms, his fingers taped together. More tubes, more bandages. His head felt heavy, and grogginess kept the lingering question at bay.

He heard a snore come from somewhere in the room, and realized that he was not alone, and that his vision was not as clear as he had previously thought.

He saw a blur of brown, short hair. The features on the face too muddled for any definition, but he still knew who it was.

"Ed…" his voice was hoarse, throat dry. He didn't even sound like himself. The blob curled in the chair stirred slightly, but didn't wake. Another snore sounded throughout the room.

He cleared his throat as loud as he could and tried again.

"Ed." Stronger, still raw, but much more audible.

Edwin moved ungracefully and with a loud 'thwump' fell to the floor. He was fully alert now.

"Derek!" he cried from his pile on the floor. Derek blinked furiously, trying desperately to gain clarity. When his brother's face came into focus, he grinned. Edwin's wide eyes were fixated on him, surprise evident in his features.

He still hadn't moved from his position on the ground.

"Dude, stand up," he croaked. The speed Edwin moved at impressed Derek. After all the times he threatened him, yelled at him, bribed him, he had never seen the kid respond quite so fast.

"Y-you're awake!" Derek's eyebrows rose in amusement. His smirk widened into a grin.

"Quite the observer, Ed." He tried not to wince at his own voice. He sounded like a sixty-year old man who'd been smoking for fifty.

Edwin blushed at that, turning his head in embarrassment. Derek laughed, genuinely entertained by the younger Venturi.

The laugh turned into a cough that ripped at his sore throat. His lungs felt tight and breathing became wheezing in a matter of seconds. Edwin was by his side in an instant, standing with a cup, worry replacing the fluster. Derek's vision wavered again, his eyes watering from the force of the coughs and the severe pressure constricting his air flow.

Edwin held up the cup to his mouth, trying in all eagerness to help his big brother, but was rejected by Derek's hand forcefully pushing him away, spilling the contents of the Dixie cup over the pallid sheets.

"Dammit, Ed," he got out between breaths. Edwin was already wiping away at the mess, his neck and cheeks bright red, mumbled 'sorry's' coming ever other wipe.

Derek, more gently, weakened from the fit, pushed Edwin's hand off of the sheets.

A cramped silence fell over the two. Derek a bit light headed and still slightly panting, and Edwin shuffling his feet awkwardly a mere foot from the bed. Despite the crimson staining his cheeks, his face still scrunched up in concern.

"Why are you hovering?" Derek choked out, his breath still strained.

"Y-you're awake," was all that was offered.

"You really are the quick one, Edweirdo."

"I'm just, shocked, is all," his voice was timid, like he was trying to decipher if this was a dream or not. Derek just stared at him incredulously. As if Edwin had sprouted a second head, declared he was indeed from another planet and was planning to kidnap Derek to perform mass amounts of unpleasant tests.

"And that's shocking because…?" Uneasiness gripped Derek's stomach.

"Derek…" there was sympathy, pity, in his tone. Derek felt the panic begin to boil and slowly start to ascend his throat like bile.

Edwin squirmed anxiously, as though he didn't want to say anything. Derek grew impatient.

"Spill." He tone, albeit still gravelly and rough, was laced in authority. A tone Edwin had never, would never, disobey.

"We, we almost…lost you, bro. It was pretty touch and go for a while. Doctors coming and going, telling us good news, returning with bad news. You were in surgery for hours. That, that was three days ago. You've been out ever since." All of this was rushed out, in Edwin speak, half mumbled, half hectic.

Derek blinked a few times, absorbing the information. He almost died? His head felt heavy again. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the stiff pillow and tried to regulate his breathing.

That was a mistake.

The lingering question that was muddled moments ago sprung on him.

Shattering glass, bending metal, blood on his tongue…Casey…Casey's scream…

And suddenly, with his eyes snapping open and the air leaving his lungs once again, he shot up in bed and searched around wildly.

"D-Derek? What's the matter?" Edwin's voice didn't even dent Derek's senses. He was back on the side of the road, back pulling his weight with an injured wrist. Back searching in vain for his stepsister.

Her name tore from his lips, eyes moving violently about, only to be met with the never ending sea of white.

Where was she? He needed to find her. Needed to know that she was okay.

"CASEY!"

She couldn't die. Not like this. Why couldn't he see her?

_He needed to see her!_

Derek didn't notice Edwin back away and run out the door.

He didn't even register that the kid was gone until nurses and doctors swarmed in.

He didn't even know he was struggling to get out of bed until an army of hands gripped at his limbs and held him down to the taut mattress.

A nurse stood by with a syringe.

Derek still flailed.

A small part of his brain acknowledged that he was still in the hospital, connected to tubes and machines and essential liquids, but the bigger, more irrational part, couldn't let go of the scene playing in his head.

"Shh, son. It's okay. Everything's going to be okay. We'll find Casey, just go to sleep, son…"

His eyes felt heavy again and his body relaxed. The mass of people dissipated, and he felt a feeble grasp on his hand. Through the haze that was quickly overtaking him, he could see waves of brown, he could see sapphire blue.

He could see her.

"Casey…" and then the drugs kicked in and sleep, once again, claimed Derek Venturi's world.

_TBC..._


	5. Broken Grace

**A/N: So I hope the semi-long chapter makes up for the wait (which wasn't as long as I thought it would be!). I know that Derek and Casey are incredibly OOC in this chapter, and I apologize for that immensely. But I hope that I set it up so it's not totally and severely impossible to imagine.**

**We'll see. Let me know what y'all think, yeah?**

**Again, thank you to all my amazing reviewers. You guys make me giddy.**

**Love it, hate it? Lemme know.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

"_The path that I have chosen now has led me to a wall, and with each passing day I feel a little more like something dear was lost. It rises now before me, a dark and silent barrier between all I am, and all I would ever want to be."_ – The Wall, Kansas

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**Chapter Four:  
Broken Grace**

"_DER! I hope you're, like, doing ok! We, like, totally mis—" _**Beep.**_ Message erased._

"_Ohmygod, ohmygod! Derek, you just _have_ to get be—"_ **Beep.**_ Message erased._

"_Hey, Venturi. Coach came and talked to us. Is it true, man? You're o—"_ **Beepbeepbeepbeep.** _Message erased._

Derek resisted the urge to throw his phone across his bedroom. He'd been home from the hospital a total of four days and already his voicemail inbox was full. He wasn't even sure he'd talked to half of the muffled voices before in his life.

But there they were. Well-wishes and fake condolences.

It was driving him mad.

His finger hovered over the 7, as he rested the phone on his chest, listening to the unfamiliar voices echoing through the speakerphone.

As another peppy, sugar-coated blond (he could only assume) rambled on about how school wasn't the same without his presence, his gaze lingered on the molded plaster covering his leg.

-

_Dr. Jensen's face was grim, his bushy eyebrows scrunched up in concern._

"_Derek, you fractured your patella."_

"_Could you try that in English, dude." Derek tried to ignore his queasiness._

_The doctor sighed morosely and sat on the edge of the hospital bed._

"_In English, you broke your kneecap."_

-

His stomached turned at the sight of the cast, and he quickly looked back up at the ceiling. His finger smashed against the seven and his body calmed when the automated female voice declared another deleted message.

The next one started, and his finger instantly relaxed against the phone. He immediately recognized the sound of his best friend's voice.

"_Hey, D."_ Sam sounded uncertain. Derek was torn between relief at the familiarity or irritation at his childhood chum. It was the first time he'd heard from him since the accident two weeks ago.

"_I know, I know. I suck. Majorly."_

"Yeah you do," Derek mumbled back.

"_And I should have come to hospital, or called or something, earlier."_ Derek let out a despondent laugh, closing his eyes tightly. _"But I just…I didn—"_

Muffled Sam let out a long sigh and was silent for a moment. If not for the background noise of his mother yelling that dinner was ready, Derek would have assumed the coward had hung up.

"_Look, D. I'm sorry. This whole thing's just been a bit surreal, y'know? I mean, Coach nearly broke down at practice yesterday when he told us you were gonna be out the entire season—"_

Derek heard enough. He slammed the phone shut and tossed it to the end of the bed, letting a guttural growl out. Sam had some nerve to mention the 'S' word.

He pulled himself into a sitting position, breathing deeply as he shifted his leg. It still hurt, no matter the amount of drugs he consumed. He leaned against the head board, his skull slamming against the wood with a dull thud. He closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing.

Each day was getting harder and harder. Hockey was his sure thing. His love. And now, he had nothing. He _was_ nothing.

No amount of pain killers or artificial words would ever change that.

-

"_Mr. Venturi, we're going to have to surgically fix this. If all goes accordingly, you'll be able to walk in about four weeks."_

_Derek paled. His throat was dry and it hurt to swallow_

"_What about hockey?" The season was set to start in three weeks. Dr. Jensen looked apprehensive about answering the question. Derek slid his shaking hands under his armpits, crossing his arms against his chest._

"_Mr. Venturi…rehabilitation is going to take awhile, and then you'll have to do physical therapy—"_

"_How long?" His jaw was clenched, his tone dark._

"_It all depends, the variables differ from patient to pat—"_

"_How. Long?" Each word was emphasized with desperation._

"_We need to focus on getting you better—" Dr. Jensen tried again._

"_How long, dammit?!" Derek screamed, his tight fists flying from their position on his chest and slamming into the mattress with an audible thud._

_Dr. Jensen sighed in concession and shifted his feet before patting Derek's good knee in an awkward attempt at comfort. _

"_I'm sorry, Derek. Even if you heal quickly from this, the chances of you continuing in any physical sport, let alone hockey, is just not going to be a reality."_

_Derek swore that his heart stopped beating._

-

There was a hurried knock on his bedroom door. Derek grunted his acknowledgement and it opened with a creak. He opened one eye to see Edwin meekly stick his head in, a look of apprehension coating his features.

"Um…heya, bro. Nora wanted me to tell you that, um, dinner was ready." Edwin sounded so unsure himself. Like he was asking a life and death question, and was terrified that Derek would answer death. It's how they all dealt with him now-a-days.

Every person in his family treaded lightly around him, now. All nervous and polite and scared that the wrong words would set him off. Or break him. He didn't really know which they were more scared of.

He wanted to laugh out loud at their stupidity.

And then there was Casey. She was the only person who didn't seem to piss him off these days, as ass backwards as that notion was. She didn't treat him as though he were made of glass, didn't try to be cautious or handle him with kid gloves.

He's not really sure how it happened, how Casey was the only person he relied on these days. It just sort of did.

It started at the hospital, right after he'd awoken following his mini-episode. She'd been there.

It angered him at first. He yelled and screamed and blamed. If she hadn't gone all psycho on him, they would have never been out on the road. If she had just told him what was wrong, he would have never lost his concentration, he would have never crashed into the truck, and he would have never nearly killed both of them.

If only, if only.

But her submissive head-nods and mumbled 'I know's' drained him of his animosity, leaving him exhausted and defeated.

And when she came back the next day, and then the day after that, and then the day after that, his exhaustion gave way to gratitude. And the next thing he knew, Casey was his rock and he was hers.

"Uh…Derek?" Ed squeaked. He had almost forgotten that his brother was still there, lost in his own thoughts. He glared at the younger Venturi, whose eyes widened in return.

"Not hungry," he replied, no emotion in his voice. He let his head fall back again, signaling the end of the short-lived conversation. His door closed, and once again he was alone.

He stomach grumbled loudly in the silence of his room.

* * *

For a moment, Derek didn't realize what had woken him, until he heard another delicate tap on his door. Looking over at the clock, he instantly knew who it was. Only one person visited him past midnight.

"Come in," he whispered.

The hinges squeaked, and he barely heard the soft padding of socked feet on his carpet. He didn't even hear the sound of the door as she closed it behind her.

"Couldn't sleep." Was all she offered, the dim moonlight shinning in from his window giving her an ethereal glow.

"Never can," he replied, moving over as much as he could, patting the spot next to him. Casey obliged and the springs of his mattress moaned in protest at the added weight. She curled next to him, without actually touching him, and he slid his hand behind his head, staring at the shadowed ceiling.

A comfortable silence engulfed them, and for a moment, they both were satisfied to be in the other's company.

And they lied like that, touching with no hands, speaking with no words, until Derek felt fatigue start to take over and his eyelids start to droop.

"Sam called me," she whispered, the sound breaking through the shadows. His eyes shot open, but he kept his body still.

"Really," he replied, trying his best to sound disinterested.

"Yeah." Her monosyllabic response held no answers to the questions running through his mind, irritating him. She knew what he wanted to ask, but she was going to be stubborn and make him voice it.

Sometimes, he still hated her.

"And?" he asked, trying to get information without seeming curious.

"We talked." He could hear the smile in her tone. His fists clenched, exasperated with her stupid little game.

"That's nice." His tone suggesting it was anything but.

He wasn't going to give in. Her laugh was soft, but it made the corners of his mouth twitch slightly.

He wasn't going to give in.

Her laughter swelled into giggles, and her hand found its way to his exposed forearm. It sent shivers down his back, to his legs, down to his toes.

He wasn't going to give in, dammit.

"Just ask. You know you want to," she laughed. He rolled his eyes in the dark, a small scoff escaping his lips.

He shut his jaw, making sure that his teeth crashed together loudly, and 'mm-mmm-ed' through his sealed mouth.

She squeezed his arm lightly, and he felt his resolve weakening.

It was weird to him that she could take a serious subject, like the apparent abandonment of his best friend, and make it into some sort of bizarre game. It was weird to him that she became the one person who knew him well enough to do that.

"Nope, don't wanna know," he mumbled between his barely open lips.

"You _totally_ wanna know," she joked back. Her grasp on him tightened, and she shook his arm mercilessly.

He. Was. Not. Going. To. Give. In.

Dammit.

"Come on, _Der-Der_," she said, the nickname she used to annoy the hell out of him, coming out saccharine sweet. "You totally wanna know what we talked about."

A few weeks ago, this out of place teasing would have left him angry at her audacity to mess with him. It would have led to an onslaught of insults and arguments and left them both red-faced and angry. That was then.

And now? He relied on these interactions to keep him sane.

She removed her hand from him slowly, unintentionally letting her fingers slide leisurely against his skin.

When she did finally pull her hand away, his body instantly missed the contact.

_Dammit_.

"I'm not gonna ask, Case. _I_ don't give in. Ever."

"Fine. You don't ask, _I_ won't tell," she said in sing-song. He shook his head, turning it to face her. Her face was broken into a mischievous grin, much like his own devious one, and he had to hand it to her. She was getting better and better at manipulating him each day.

That fact scared the shit out of him.

He raised his eyebrow and gave her his own grin.

"Whatev. Don't really care," he replied, waving his hand dismissingly. Her smile scrunched into a disappointed frown. His own just grew into victory.

She still hadn't mastered the manipulation, though.

"Fine," she grumbled, pulling her arms around her chest and twisted her body so she was glaring at the ceiling. He watched with amusement, finally letting out a laugh. She looked so pathetic, angled oddly and pouting.

Her glare deepened at his baritone chuckle, and she stuck out her tongue at him.

His laughter died down into a relaxed silence, a smile still fixed on his face. Eventually, she gave up and readjusted herself so she was on her side, facing him. Her features slackened, but just, her stubbornness still in control.

He just smiled at her, thoroughly entertained by her antics. He made faces at her, wiggling his eyebrows and nearly drooling on himself, until he saw the tension at the corner of her mouth and the mirth in her eyes.

"You're dumb," she relented, letting the smile return.

"But yet, here you are," he teased. She sighed, clasping her hands and tucking them under cheek. Their eyes never deviated from each other.

"He's sorry, you know."

Derek almost smirked at his small victory, but chose to focus on the conversation starting brew. It would probably not end the way Casey was hoping.

Derek was damn stubborn, too.

"So he says." Derek finally broke the eye contact, taking to staring at his ceiling once more.

"You should call him back. He's afraid you hate him."

"Sam is such a girl." He laughed dryly. "I don't return one phone call and he thinks we've broken up, or something. I wonder if I should gather his things in a cardboard box and leave it on his doorstep."

"Do you hate him?" Her curiosity shone through her question. Derek's eyebrow propped up, and he shifted self-consciously under her intent gaze.

He didn't respond, not wanting to discuss this.

"Derek?" Her tone was so gentle, he felt his determination at avoidance melt.

"No," he conceded. Wanting to punch himself at how much of a woman he was becoming.

"I'm just frustrated, Case," he continued.

"Why?"

"Because!" It came out louder then he intended and he noticed Casey flinch from the corner of his eye. He blew out a long breath, hoping his aggravation would empty out with his inhalation.

"Because," he said softer.

She nodded, seeming to comprehend all the things he refused to say out loud, and let the subject drop.

She pulled her left hand out from under her head and found Derek's right. They're fingers automatically intertwined. Her mute support and understanding.

"God, McDonald. You're turning me into a woman," he said, trying his best to sound annoyed.

"You are a very pretty lady," she joked back. She squeezed his hand and they both closed their eyes. Her breath almost immediately started to even out.

"Hey Case?" he started, a question long deserving of an answer floating to the top of his head.

"Hmm?" she answered sleepily.

"Are you ever going to tell me what happened?" he inquired softly. Tension immediately filled the air and he almost regretted asking her. Her grip loosened on his hand, but before she could pull it away, his grip tightened.

"Derek," she warned, giving in to his hold easily.

"Casey," he said just as seriously, but also laced with patience.

She didn't answer, and for a moment, he thought she wasn't going to. He was just about to give up, relenting to her unspoken denial, when she responded so quietly he had to strain his ears.

"I was raped."

The howl of anger that ripped from his throat woke the entire house.

_TBC…_


	6. Falling Slowly

**A/N: Holy crap. I broke a hundred reviews. And for that, you only had to wait four days. **_**And**_** it's my longest chapter to date. Hoo-rah! This was a very emotionally draining chapter to write, for me. I'm trying my damndest to stray from the clichés that accompany rape stories. I don't want this to be one of those roll-the-eyes-at-the-predictability-of-the-story, stories.**

**And it is far from over. I'm starting to get an idea of what I want to do, and it's **_**not**_** going to be focusing on the rape. It's just a set up for their character's OOCness.**

**And after five chapters of strictly Derek POV, I'm slowly integrating Casey's. Hopefully the transition wasn't too abrupt.**

**Anywho, I'd like to thank my numerous reviewers! I broke a hundred! Holy Jeebus! I'm so grateful at the positive responses and interest. You guys are so amazing, I can't justly convey **_**how**_** amazing you guys are.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even the words I write. They're own by the American language. I'm just borrowing and arranging them to make myself sound cool.**

"_In so many ways, we show our pain in unison."_ - In So Many Ways, Bad Religion

* * *

**Chapter Five  
Falling Slowly**

"You were _what_?!"

Suddenly, he was standing. Chest heaving and body shaking. Derek's heart was pounding in his ears, his blood burning through his veins. Pure adrenaline coursed through his body.

That is, until the pain caught up with him, and quite as suddenly as he was standing, he found himself on the floor of his room, clutching his leg in anguish. A groan wrenched itself from his lips, and his eyes instinctively snap shut.

His leg was on _fire_.

Casey was by his side in an instant, hands smoothing his hair back and soft shushes falling from her tongue.

"Derek, breathe," her voice was calm, though her hands were trembling. Derek's eyes started to water, but he's not going to cry.

Another groan escaped him, this time louder, soaked in misery. The pain was overwhelming, and he felt as though he were going to pass out at any moment.

He felt wetness slide down his cheek.

He was _not_ crying.

Footsteps pounded up the stairs, doors screeched open.

More heavy footsteps as his own door hinges yelled in protest.

Nora burst in first, closely followed by a disheveled George. Edwin and Lizzie stood just beyond the open door, wide-eyed.

"What's going on? Derek, are you all right?" Nora's voice was hurried, out of breath.

He had no breath to speak, his lungs constricted from the stabbing sensation trekking through his leg.

"Casey?" George inquired, sounding helpless and confused.

"I don't know. I think he hit his leg. I heard his scream and rushed over here," she lied easily. She didn't move from her spot next to him, still running her fingers over his scalp, attempting to calm him.

He opened his eyes hesitantly, as more non-tears flooded down his cheeks. Blurred Casey entered his line of sight, and she stroked his cheek gently.

Casey turned a glare to her family, standing there, unabashedly staring.

"Case," he rasped. Her gaze snapped back to him, her face instantly softening. "Case, I don't-I feel sick."

He gagged. Loudly. She glowered at her family once again.

"Don't just stand there," Casey hissed. They failed to move. So she did what she did best. Took charge.

"Ed, grab the bottle of pain pills. Their on his nightstand, next to the clock. Mom, grab a wash cloth and wet it with hot water. George, help me get him to the bathroom!"

It was like someone had flipped a switch, bringing them to life.

The roar of movement rattled his head, and he was abruptly pulled up. Casey and George were carrying him from his room with difficultly. White pain seared behind his eyes, and he closed them against the nausea racing through his stomach.

They'd made it half way there before he emptied the contents of his stomach the hallway floor, luckily missing himself and his two acting legs.

A small 'ew' came from behind them.

"Marti, got o your room," George commanded.

"But—"

"Now!" His voice was harsh, his usual tenderness erased by his anxiety. She choked back a sob, obeying without further objection.

They made it to the bathroom, to the toilet, in time for the second bout of queasiness to overpower him. Hands moved in circles over his back as he vomited. Casey's hands.

"I'm gonna go clean the mess in the hall," George said, more to give himself a purpose then to inform the two teens of his actions.

"Good," Casey bit out. Aggravation lined her words. George's eyes narrowed, and he opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it. He left with a tired sigh.

Derek threw up again.

Another person entered the bathroom, and after he felt wet warmth on the back of his neck, he figured it was Nora.

"Is he okay?" the elder McDonald asked. Casey just laughed hollowly.

"Casey—" Whatever lengthy lecture rested on his stepmother's tongue was cut short by Casey.

"Not now, Mom. At least wait until he isn't puking up his internal organs."

Nora just huffed.

"Fine. But we're discussing this later." And with that, she, just like her husband, left with a heavy sigh.

Derek pulled his face away from the opening of the toilet, and Casey helped him sit back against the bathtub.

She dabbed his forehead lightly with the cloth and he gave her a weak, but grateful, smile. His eyes squinted in misery, a migraine hammering at his skull.

"Here," Edwin squeaked, entering the bathroom. He handed Casey the bottle of Vicodin and started to back away. Casey's incensed voice halted his movements.

"Think you could spare the time for a glass of water?" Her eyes were narrowed at Edwin, who timidly nodded his head.

"Uh, yeah, sure. No prob," he rambled. The faucet whooshed to life. He passed the glass to her and she waved him away irately.

He left quickly.

She pulled out a pill and put it in Derek's hand. With a large amount of effort, he lifted his hand to his mouth and popped the pill in.

"Here you go," she said, the gentleness back in her tone. She put the cup to his lips and raised it, allowing the water to transfer steadily.

He gulped it ravenously. His eyes closed, yet again, and he awaited the relief of the medicinal world.

"Better?" she asked after a few minutes.

"Yeah," he croaked. "That hurt like shit."

"I bet."

"Is he okay?" a voice asked from the threshold. They turned to see George standing with his arms crossed. He didn't sound as concerned as the question entailed. His eyes were lowered into a heated frown.

Casey spun back around to face Derek, her features just as dark.

"Yes." Her tone was short and she continued to fuss over Derek. Smoothing down his shirt and his hair and giving him some more water.

Derek stayed quiet. He focused on his breathing and the slowly dulling throb in his leg.

"We need to get him back to bed," George said. Casey's hands tensed and her face fell into a glare.

"I'll help him back once the drugs take affect. He's still hurting."

Derek blinked back the surprise at how cold her voice was. But he made no attempt to counter what she said. Casey being so protective over him made his stomach flutter. Or maybe it was still the nausea.

"I think it's a better idea to get him to bed, so he can sleep," George suggested in a not so suggestive sounding timbre. Casey turned back to him, matching his glare expertly.

"Don't start taking initiative _now_, George."

Never, in the three and half years that they lived together had Casey ever spoken to anyone _but_ Derek like that. Not her sister, not his brother, and definitely not their parents.

George looked shocked, to say the least, and Derek really couldn't blame him. He, too, was stunned.

"Casey!" Nora's sharp voice came from behind George. She came from around him, face bright red with lividness and hands on her hips.

"Don't you _dare_ talk to your stepfather that way!"

Casey instinctively shrunk back, leaning against the tub next to Derek. Her eyes were downcast, staring at her fidgeting hands. Her cheeks lacked the usual redness of shame. Derek raised his eyebrows but didn't mention anything.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. She sounded deflated. Derek's head was reeling from everything that had just happened.

George didn't respond, he just about-faced and stomped away.

"Get Derek to bed, and then meet us in the kitchen," Nora instructed in an icy voice. She then too turned and stomped back down the stairs.

They were silent for a moment. Casey lost in her own thoughts and Derek still waiting for the pills to completely take over.

Finally, after what seemed hours, Derek spoke.

"Care to explain?" He turned his face toward her, eyebrow propped up in curiousness.

"I-I really don't know," she replied, sounding so small it scared him. "I was just…scared. You were freaking and then you were on the floor and then they were there, just, just _standing_ and I got angry."

Her eyes found his, a look of resolve swimming in the oceanic blue. He just watched her, not quiet sure what to say to her changing emotions.

"They deserved it," she said, tenaciously. He merely nodded his head.

She lowered her gaze again, bobbing her head in resolution.

"They deserved it," she said lower. He was taken aback by her candid animosity.

He lifted a shaky hand to her chin and tilted it up to look at him. He watched her for a moment, fingers still resting against her skin, before he smirked at her.

"I think I'm rubbing off on you."

She smirked back. She grabbed his hand from under her chin and laced their fingers together.

"Come on, let's get you back to bed."

He let her pull him up, being extra careful to avoid putting any pressure on his injured leg.

By the time they made it to his room, they were both out of breath. She gently helped lower him to his mattress, helping as softly as she could to prop his leg up on the stack of pillows.

As she turned to leave, Derek grabbed her wrist. She looked down at him, eyes pleading with him to not say what she knew he was going to. His features were shadowed, giving him a down-right murderous look.

"We're going to talk about it," he said authoritatively. His tone was dark. But his hold remained tender.

"Derek, just get some rest, okay?" she pleaded, eyes somber.

"After their done with you, come back. We're going to talk about it."

"Derek—" she tried again.

"We're going to talk about it." This time, his assertiveness left no room for argument. Her gaze diverted from his to the floor and she nodded, conceding.

He released her and laid back into his pillow.

And as his door closed, his mind spun.

One thought echoing louder than the others.

_Someone was going to die._

* * *

"I'm very disappointed in you, Casey," her mother reprimanded. "Talking to us like that was uncalled for."

Casey sat on a stool at the kitchen island, hands in her lap and head hanging.

"What have you got to say for yourself?" Nora demanded, voice an angry hush.

She had no response. In truth, she didn't feel all that bad about how she had reacted. They had all just been _standing_ there, like idiots. They'd been like that all week, treating Derek as though he were a delicate vase being passed through each of their hands.

She saw how frustrated it made him, and his frustration became hers. The last thing he needed was to be coddled.

"Answer your mother," George interjected. He sounded tired. She glanced up and met his eyes, which were surprisingly soft. He seemed to have calmed down and understanding was slowly making its way through him.

"I was scared," she relented. "He was in so much pain and no one was doing anything. And I just…lost it, I guess. I'm sorry." And she really did sound sorry. Though she was anything but.

Yeah, she could have done without the bitchiness in her last statement towards her stepfather, and she could have taken control without the condescension.

But she felt justified.

Nora seemed satisfied with that answer.

"I know you were scared, honey. We all were. We _have_ been so scared. But you can't just treat us like that, okay?" Nora said, the edge to her voice gone.

Casey nodded, looking completely ashamed. Derek was right, he _was_ rubbing off on her. She can't remember the last time she felt vindication in lying to anyone, let alone her parents.

She felt someone's eyes on her, and looked up to see an intrigued looking George. He had a question burning in his eyes, but he seemed reluctant to voice it.

"How are you doing?" George asked carefully. She knew he was dancing around something, she just couldn't figure out what.

"I'm fine," she monotoned. George bobbed his head skeptically, but didn't pursue whatever he wanted to know.

Casey knew that she was lucky, having only walked away from the crash with a minor concussion and a couple broken ribs. Not to mention cuts and bruises that made her previous discoloring pale in comparison.

_Yeah, real lucky_,she thought, wishing that she had been killed in the accident, rather than live with the memories of greedy, roaming hands.

She felt it was her turn to throw up.

Nora placed a warm hand on Casey's, still clasped in her lap. She resisted the urge to pull away. She forced her self to flash a petite smile at her mother.

"We've all been through a lot. You two, especially," Nora said wisely. Casey wanted to roll her eyes. This woman had no idea what they'd been through.

"You should go to bed, sweetie. You look tired." Nora squeezed her hand. Casey didn't squeeze back.

Casey stood quickly. Her mother's hand dropped ungracefully from its hold. Nora also stood, embracing her daughter. Casey's arms stayed limp at her side. When Nora pulled away, Casey felt no remorse at the hurt that flashed over her mother's face.

George's face was scrunched in disapproval. Nora took in a sharp breath and lifelessly kissed Casey on the side of her head.

"Goodnight," she whispered. Casey nodded in response, avoiding both of their searching looks. She stiffly left the room, the tension rising with every step she took.

As she ascended the stairs, her stomach clenched in anticipation. She was not looking forward to the conversation about to take place.

* * *

Her knock was soft, but he heard it. Had been waiting for it.

"Come in," he called. The door opened in answer.

"Hey," she whispered.

"Hey."

"How you feeling?" she asked as she sat on the bed next to him.

"Like shit," he replied matter-of-factly.

"Me, too."

Silence once again swallowed them.

She leaned against the headboard, letting out a yawn. Derek watch her every move, questions burning through him. He squeezed his hands into tight fists just thinking about it.

"Who?" he demanded in a whisper.

She stayed quiet. She couldn't meet his gaze. She didn't even try.

Derek's anger was starting to get the better of him.

"Dammit, Casey. _Who_?"

"If I tell you, do you promise not to do anything stupid?" she asked in trepidation.

"I make no promises." He folded his arms across his chest, the rage vibrating through to his fingertips. He was shaky again for a separate set of reasons than earlier.

"Derek, _please_." She sounded so broken. His heart ached at the hopelessness and desperation in her voice.

He didn't want to acquiesce. Knowing that he was most likely not going to be able to keep said promise.

"Case, you know I can't make that promise," he finally replied. His body tautened when her face crumbled. She was going to cry, and the old Derek screamed inside of him.

Tears . He couldn't handle tears.

"Don't cry."

The request sounded stupid and insensitive, even to him. But he was at a loss of what else to say or do. Of course she was going to cry. Hell, if he were in her place, if something so precious and personal was ripped from him, if he felt as lost as she did, he'd brake, too.

She curled into a ball and hiccupped. But that was the only sound she made. Her silent sobs shook the bed, and a part of him died.

He reached out and placed a hand on her back. She gasped loudly and pulled away from his touch as though it scorched her. He retracted immediately, feeling outright powerless to comfort her.

His lungs refused to expand and air caught in his throat.

As if realizing what she did, comprehension that she'd just rejected his help, she turned into him, pulling on his shirt to be as close as she possibly could to him. His breathing started again, and he held her firmly.

She gasped, suddenly short of breath, and her sobs hitched. Her body was trembling uncontrollably, tears soaking through his shirt. His embrace tightened.

"It's going to be okay," he whispered, not believing his own words. She just cried harder.

His heart shattered at the agony in her ragged breaths, in her desperate grip on his shirt.

He closed his eyes, trying to block out the pain radiating off the girl in his arms.

After an eternity, her sobs faded into a grave silence. Her breathing evened out and she fell into a restless sleep.

Derek wasn't so lucky. He wanted to kill someone. He wanted to find them, and slaughter them in the most inhumane way imaginable. His mind was racing with the possibilities, with the people, and suddenly he hated every bastard he could think of.

It was an odd scene, Casey passed out, pressed against Derek's side, as he stared blankly at the silhouettes dancing across his moon-lit room. His eyes vacant of anything but pure, unadulterated rage.

It was an odd scene, indeed, these two familiar strangers connecting in their misery. Both dying remnants of the people they used to be.

_TBC…_


	7. The Devil Has No Name

**A/N: I know, I know. I suck. But bear with me, as my life has been hectic and I've been utterly exhausted and children steal your soul and creativeness and brain power. And to think, it's not even my kid. Heh. Anywho, enough bitching. This chapter a little short, and I apologize. It's what I got out and I'm not terribly happy with it but it's been a while and I'm trying to get semi-regular updates going. This chapter is more of a filler. A transition into the next part of the story: school. I'm sorry it's lame and slow and boring, but I'm trying really hard to ease into everything, I guess. I don't know what I'm saying. I'm just gonna shut up. Yeah, sounds like a good idea. Ignore me.**

**I want to thank, whole-heartedly, my wonderful, amazing reviewers. Thanks for putting up with my flakiness and enjoying my story. It's really just the most fantastic feeling in the world to see so many interested readers. You guys are what make this whole, painful writing process worth it. I love you guys.**

**Enough of my babbling.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. Or the show. Or the lyrics to the song. Though I recommend everyone to listen to the it, as it is probably one of the most amazing songs I've ever heard. That is all.**

"_Tell everybody, waiting for Superman, that they should try to hold on the best they can. He hasn't dropped them, forgot them or anything. It's just too heavy for Superman to lift."_ – Waitin' For Superman, The Flaming Lips

* * *

**Chapter Six  
The Devil Has No Name**

They sat on his bed, both silent, both staring at nothing. Derek leaned against the headboard, legs extended forward and arms at their corresponding sides. Casey was crossed-legged, on the side she'd slept on last night, gaping at her lap.

Derek was frustrated, angry. Casey was just…tired. She'd been avoiding the question for the entire day and he was drained, anxiousness swelling in his stomach.

He needed to know.

"Dammit, Casey. Just tell me," his voice was low, harsh. Quiet. But not mean.

She just played with the hem of her sweatshirt sleeve, watching, with fascination, as the malleable fabric stretched and contracted methodically.

His arms flexed and un-flexed with his clenching fists. He didn't understand this girl, never had, and probably never would. He took in a few, calming breaths. Watching her with the same fascination she gave the cotton encasing her wrist.

She shifted self-consciously, as he observed her. Not once breaking her own eye contact with her fingers. He cleared his throat loudly and she flinched.

"Tell me," he said softer. Pleadingly. Desperately. He almost cringed at his tone, still not quite used to being so gentle. Especially when it came to Casey.

Her movements halted, but her gaze stayed pointedly downcast. Her breathing faltered and he could sense another wave of tears flooding through her.

"Casey…" he warned. "Don't." His eyes closed and he pressed the balls of his palms into them. He couldn't watch her cry. Hearing a sniffle, his body tensed and he dropped his hands back down to their place by his thighs and let his head fall against the wall. Wrenching his tired eyes open, he stared at the ceiling.

He seemed to be doing a lot of staring, lately.

And she seemed to be doing a hell of a lot more crying.

"I-I'm sorry," she muttered, much more comprehensible then he would have expected. His shoulders rose in a shrug, and he pulled his head away from the wall to look at her.

Only to see her looking right back.

The sadness, the defeat, that lay in the sapphire made his head spin. He grimaced and faced away. He couldn't handle that look.

"Derek, please. Don't make me tell you," she pleaded, grabbing hold of his hand. His body stiffened and his jaw clenched. He didn't respond. Afraid of the words that would come out. Of the rage that would leak through his lips. Of the storm that brewed on his tongue.

Their hands stayed clasped.

"Derek, understand, please. I can't tell you," her voice was verging on frantic. His stomach dropped. But he still held his words back.

Didn't _she_ understand? He would kill the son-of-a-bitch. He would _murder_ him without a single, hesitant thought. He would track down the fucker and inflict so much pain the bastard would wish that he'd never drawn breath.

Maybe she did understand. Maybe she _knew_ what he was willing to do.

Maybe that's why she refused to give the devil a name.

"I can't. I _won't_," she tried again, her voice softer, but more forceful.

He choked back his understanding, allowing the stubbornness to push to the top. There were so many things he wanted to respond with. So many lectures, pleas at her own understanding. So many vengeful promises and heartfelt concessions. But only one words pushed through his teeth.

"Fine."

He pulled his hand away from her grasp, ignoring the hitch in her breath, and settled his arms across his chest.

She went back to fiddling with her sleeve and he went back to staring at the ceiling.

* * *

Dinner was tense, to say the least. George was surprised at the silence that surrounded them. He glanced around a few times a minute, watching his children somberly eat their dinners. His eyes caught Nora's and they communicated through hard looks. His inquisitive, hers worried. His eyes moved from Nora's, sweeping over the table at the two eldest.

Casey was quiet, pushing food around her plate, making no attempt at shoveling it toward her mouth.

Derek wasn't even pretending. He sat with his arms folded, glaring at the table, leg propped up on another chair. His crutch was propped up against the back of the one he sat in.

"So…" Nora started, trying desperately to collapse the suffocating silence. George's gaze snapped back to his wife.

"Are you two excited about going back to school tomorrow?"

Neither teen raised their head in acknowledgement that she spoke. Nora's shoulders slumped and she dropped her eyes to her lasagna.

George cleared his throat loudly. Still no response. Edwin and Lizzie shared worried glances. Edwin jerked his head upward and Lizzie nodded stiffly. George's eyebrow arched in curiosity, but he didn't question their exchange.

"May I be excused?" Lizzie asked first, pushing her plate away from her. Nora bobbed her head lazily, not looking up from her plate. Lizzie stood quickly, pushed her chair and bounded up the stairs loudly.

"Me, too?" Edwin asked a few seconds later, throwing his question at George.

"Sure," he responded in an even tone, his interest peaking. Edwin wasted no time, not bothering to push in his chair, as he followed his stepsister's tracks.

The tension seemed to amplify in their absence. Marti watched each person at the table curiously. Her mouth opened to say something, but George cut her off before a sound left her mouth.

"Marti, you can finish your dinner in your room." It was not a request, and his tone left no room for argument. She dropped her fork raucously onto her plate and pushed back her chair, making sure the legs scrapped loudly against the linoleum.

"I'm not hungry anymore," she spat, throwing her body into a stomp up the stairs. She made sure that every footfall echoed through the wood of the steps.

George flinched as a door slammed.

Still, neither Derek nor Casey seemed to be aware of anything outside their own thoughts.

Nora also pushed her plate away, turning her body to face her daughter. Her eyes were scrunched in worry and hurt and her hands were folded in her lap.

"Casey, honey…" she started. Casey's attention didn't waver, and George was unsure if the girl was even hearing her mother.

"Casey?" she tried again, placing a small hand on her upper arm.

The scream that ripped through Casey's lips reverberated throughout the entire house. This time Derek did respond. He turned his gaze up to her, nearly falling out of his chairs in surprise.

Casey was on her feet, chest heaving, chair thrown to the ground in a loud crash. George was wide-eyed, hand over heart, and mouth agape.

Nora burst into tears.

Somehow, Derek had managed to get to his feet, crutching his way over to his stepsister, standing next to her far enough away, George supposed, to not spook her anymore.

Casey's eyes were wild, searching the room for some unseen threat, her breathing coming in short gasps.

Nora just cried harder, not sure of what else to do. George seemed to somehow find his bearings and was on his feet, stepping toward Nora. He knelt next to her, placing an arm around her shoulders, his other hand rubbing her thigh soothingly.

He watched their children in odd fascination. Derek wasn't touching her, but he was talking to her, so low George had to strain his ears to understand his son's words.

"Case. Casey, look at me. It's Derek. Look at me. I'm right here. Casey."

Her breathing slowed and her back slackened. She was blinking fervently. She focused on Derek's voice, but didn't turn to look at him. Slowly, he reached his hand out and after a moment's hesitation, he placed it on her shoulder. George saw her tense slightly before she completely relaxed and turned into Derek.

He stumbled a bit before regaining balance and placed his arms around her body in a tight embrace. Her arms circled around his waist and her body began to shake.

All George could think, as his whole body stilled at the sight, breath catching in his throat, was what the hell happened to them?

George heard a creak of a floorboard and glanced toward the staircase to see Edwin and Lizzie crouched at the top, staring through the banister bars at the scene, eyes wide with shock and puzzlement. He caught their attention and jerked his thumb up, stern glare telling them to get back their rooms. Their eyes widened minutely and before he could blink again, shadows replaced their bodies.

He turned back to Nora, who was also watching the scene, tears still streaming down her cheeks, looking completely lost.

"George," she whispered in a strained breath. "Georgie, these aren't our babies."

His stomach dropped at the truth in her words.

* * *

After the house had gone to sleep, the perpetual silence following each member of the Ventturi-McDonald household, Derek lay in his bed, arm propped under his head, thinking.

He, with the help of his dad, had gotten Casey upstairs and in bed. She didn't say a damn word to him after his father left, just stared stoically at nothing as she curled into a ball. He didn't dare try to touch her again. Her mind was somewhere else, reliving things he didn't want to think of. He left her to the stillness of her room, the permanent unease in his stomach deepen as he had shut her door softly behind him.

And so now, here he lay, mind racing and surging and boiling.

He was fucking seething. Angry at so many things, so many people, that his brain refused to shut down so he could get some damn sleep.

He was angry at no-name for being a dickish coward. He was angry at Nora for not realizing something was seriously wrong with her daughter. He was angry at his dad because, well, because he could be and it just felt right to be angry at his dad. He was angry at Casey for refusing to tell him who did it. For being so broken and pained and sad. For receding into herself and refusing to let him help her.

But mostly, he was angry at himself. He had no idea how to help her, like she had helped him. He didn't know how to fix her or soothe her or comfort her. He couldn't protect her. He couldn't keep her monsters locked away. He couldn't even keep her from freaking out at the slightest touch of her _mother_.

How the hell was he supposed to hold her up when he was barely keeping himself together?

He glanced at the clock, reading the bright red numbers. _2:48am_. He had less than four hours before he needed to be up, and his brain showed no inclination of slowing down, his eyes having no intention to stay closed for more than a few seconds at a time.

He let out a low groan, a headache starting to throb up his skull.

"Damn," he said to the darkness. "Tomorrow is gonna suck ass."

_TBC…_


End file.
